There For You
by SignsofSam
Summary: He's born, he's gay, he's hurt, he's kissed, he's a parent, and she's breaking down  or, five times Olivia Anderson is there for her brother, and one time he returns the favor


**Title: **There For You

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters from _Glee_. I'm just borrowing them for a while. I'll returned them (mostly) unscathed soon.

**Word Count: **~2800

**Spoilers/Warnings**: none, but there are some bad words thrown in...

**Summary:** _He's born, he's gay, he's hurt, he's kissed, he's a parent, and she's breaking down (or, five times Olivia Anderson is there for her brother, and one time he returns the favor)_

**Author's Notes:** Eh, I've been working on this for a few days...the plus one is a lot, and I blame One Less Reason for making it that sad (thanks One Less Reason, thanks)...also, I'm not sure about the tense (it's in present)...it's like I try to write in past and present comes out. _Comment if you've got time!_

-/-/-

**[one]**

She's six when she sits in the waiting room, legs swinging off the plastic chair as she stares at the clock, over and over again. Her book lays open in her lap, forgotten and nearly discarded, eyes only on the clock. It's been _hours_ since they arrived, since Mommy picked her up at school and halfway through the drive home had to head to the hospital, because Olivia's brother or sister was coming.

Olivia is excited. Her best friend Jenny is a big sister, and she says its great because you get to order your siblings around and tell them what to play with, but that there is always someone to play Barbies with, or someone to play hide and seek and tag with, someone to share the troubles with Mommy looks at you and yells at you with angry voice.

So, Olivia is excited.

She just didn't expect it to take so _long_.

Her dad came in when the big hand was on the twelve, the small hand on the three (_three o'clock_, Ms. Sharon corrected in her head); her Nana Anderson came to sit with her when the big hand was on the seven and the small hand in between the three and the four (_that one's three thirty-five, Olivia. Say it properly). _The doctor comes out every time the big hand is on the six (_that's at thirty minutes, Olivia!_), but he hasn't been out since the big hand passed the six and the small hand was in between the one and the two (_One thirty_), but she _had _been asleep for awhile; maybe she's missed him.

When the big hand hits the four and the small hand hits the five (_five twenty in the morning_), her father comes stumbling through the doors, still dressed in the blue clothes the doctors gave him. He smiles at her and hugs her tight, carrying her down the hall to a huge window. There are many little wrinkled babies there, some crying, some sleeping, with blue or pink hats and mittens, wrapped in white blankets with duckies on them.

Her daddy holds her up, pointing to a crib right in front, on the left, to a wrinkled baby—it's tiny!—with a mop of black curls, like hers'. "Livvy, that's your brother, Blaine."

**[two]**

She's sitting in her room, trying to finish her Calculus homework when Blaine knocks on her door. At twelve, he's still tiny, and for some reason their parents let him keep his hair long, covering his face. He wears thick glasses—he can have contacts when he's thirteen, like she did—but he's nervous, his arm wrapped around himself.

"Blaine? What's wrong?" she asks, beckoning him in, her concern growing when he closes the door behind him. This meant serious conversation. At twelve, there shouldn't be too many serious conversations to be had.

"How did you know?"

She shakes her head, brows furrowing. "How did I know what?"

"How did you know you liked Max?" He sputters out the words, and yet they are soft, a near murmur. She breathes a sigh of relief; this is a conversation she can handle, about new feelings Blaine may be having, about what those feelings are.

"Max and I have been dating since we were fifteen, Blaine. There's just…I get happy when I see him, and I just want to be with him. He makes me giddy inside, and I just know. Why? Is there a little girl you have your eyes on? I bet she's blond, isn't she? What's her name—Anna, Mindy-?"

"His name is Jeff. He's in the eighth grade."

_Holy fuck_.

"Oh," is all she manages, and she can't help the guilt that rushes through her when Blaine reddens, and his face drops until he's looking at his hands in his lap, biting his lip so hard she's afraid he'll make it bleed. "No, Blaine…it's okay. It's not weird, I promise, you're not different, you're not…any of those things someone else says. Sometimes, you like boys when you're a boy or girls when you're a girl. It's okay. There's nothing wrong with you, no matter what other people say, you understand me?"

"But…it's not right. People says it's not right. Dad says…faggot-" He's got tears falling down his cheeks, and she reaches out, brushing the tears away. "Livvy-"

She hugs him tight, kissing his forehead as he cries into her shirt. "Baby, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

"What if there's no one like me? What if I never find anyone like me?"

"That's not going to happen, Blaine. You are an awesome, awesome kid, and you're going to grow up to be an awesome, awesome man. And you're going to find someone worthy of that awesomeness, who's going to make you realize how much you should love yourself," she whispers, knowing that for now one, their lives have changed irrevocably, and she's okay with that.

**[three]**

It's the middle of finals her junior year, and Olivia spends most of the time in the library at OSU, despite the cold and the fact that she has heat and her bed waiting for her, with just a few more chemistry problems to get through. Most of her friends are gone, and she's left with her books and her monster cups of coffee.

Her phone buzzes on the hard table, and she groans, picking it up, wondering what her roommate wanted now. When she sees _Dad_ scrolling across the screen, she frowns, flipping the phone open. "Daddy?"

"Blaine's in the hospital, Olivia."

She can fill the panic begin to rise, and she's shuffling, shoving her books back in her bag. "Is he okay?"

"He's in surgery, Liv. Someone beat him up after his dance that he was going to with Jack. I wasn't there—Jack's dad found them—but he said Blaine's pretty…pretty bad. His arm is…and his ribs-" She can tell her dad's been crying, and she's not sure if that scares her more than the news itself. Since Blaine came out to their parents, their dad has been…distant to him, at best. He says he's still processing, that it doesn't mean he loves Blaine any less, but sometimes…sometimes that distance is worse than not loving Blaine, in her opinion.

"Olivia?" rocks her back to reality, and she starts.

"Sorry, Daddy. Where is he?"

-/-/-

The assholes that beat him broke his arm so badly that it punctured the skin near his elbow. His shoulder is dislocated, and the doctors had to do surgery to get it back in place. He had a rib that was crushed, and others that were broken or fractured in multiple places. His lung collapsed on the way to the hospital because a broken shard of his rib pierced it. He's got a broken cheekbone, swelling in his brain, bruised kidneys, a bruised spleen…

Worst of all was the ventilator he'd been on for the past two days, since he'd come into the hospital. All her finals were on hold as she sat by her baby brother's bed, running a hand through his short curls (he'd be _so_ upset when he learned they had to shave them). "You have to wake up, Blainers. You have to. You can't let those…those jackasses win."

She sighs, wiping the tears away from her eyes—she's been crying a lot in the past two days. "Dad's…you should see him, Blaine. He's been looking at all these schools with zero tolerance policies, and he has completely chewed out the principal at Westerville, and he's insisting on hate crime charges for the people that hurt you. I think he's done processing. He and Mom are getting coffee, but they've been here since it happened."

She glances up, and she lets out a breath, a ragged, jagged breath, a smile lighting her face.

Hazel—beautiful, wonderful hazel eyes—stare back at her.

**[four]**

They're late.

She's been sitting at the booth for ten minutes—glancing at her phone and wondering if she should call—waiting for her brother. More importantly, waiting for her brother and her brother's _boyfriend_. The word is new (new when being associated with _Blaine_), but her mother told her on the phone how nice Kurt was, how handsome he was, how he makes Blaine smile more than anyone else, how he got Blaine to attend _prom_. Needless to say, she has been very eager to meet the mysterious Kurt.

And now, they're late.

She glances at her phone again, looking up when doorbell above the front door of the diner rings, and there comes her baby brother. His hair is shorter than the last time she saw him, smothered with a pound of gel that was a byproduct of starting at Dalton, of a want to fit in. He's wearing a cardigan, and a dorky bow tie, but he looks so happy, and he looks so very, very alive and well.

He's holding hands with a kid that's taller, that's thinner, pale and brunet, with these crystal blue eyes that are _amazing_. He's laughing at something Blaine is saying, and it warms her heart that Blaine's found someone that makes him happy, someone that's worthy of his awesomeness.

Blaine leads Kurt to the booth, introducing him as they slide into the other side of the booth. "Sorry we're late, Liv," Blaine says, kissing her cheek before sitting. She regards them both for just a minute, the way Blaine's lips look a little swollen, the way his scarf is a bit askew and the way Kurt keeps side-grinning at him, and she can't help the words that come out of her mouth.

"Spent a little too much time in the backseat of a car, Blainers?"

He blushes, but doesn't deny it.

**[five]**

"Aunt Liv?"

She loves being an aunt. She's thirty-two (oh God, she's _thirty two!_) and she's a mother and a wife, but she loves her role as aunt in her brother's life. Blaine and Kurt have been married since college, and they adopted their first son three years ago, a bright-eyed four-year-old named Everett. He's sitting beside her now, and had been coloring in his book before he called to her. She looks down at him, running a hand through his hair. "What's wrong, Ev?"

"What's taking so long? It didn't take this long with Noah." Noah is asleep in the waiting room chair, his arms wrapped around his favorite teddy bear, a blanket wrapped around him. He's three, and Everett's biological brother.

"Your daddies are adopting a baby this time, Everett; a mommy who didn't think she could take care of her baby chose them especially, and so they have to wait for the baby to come."

Oh Lord, she's not doing a very good job of explaining this.

"But where do the babies _come from_?"

"Ask your daddies," she advises, reaching for a crayon. "What are you going to draw?"

"Noah wants a Steve McQueen drawing; I thought I'd do that next."

It's soon after when Kurt and Blaine come out, both sweaty and in those lovely blue scrubs she remembers so fondly from the time she was introduced to her own brother. Blaine's holding a baby in his arms—wrapped in a cute pink blanket (a girl! Finally, because between the two Anderson children, they've produced four boys) and Olivia stands, letting out a relieved sigh. "You've kept us waiting," she starts, looking at Everett, who's woken his brother and is watching the baby with wonder.

Blaine just laughs, his eyes on the baby's forehead, crinkled as she sleeps. "Olivia, meet your niece, Katherine Olivia Hummel-Anderson."

Her breath catches, and for a second her vision blurs with tears. "Really, Blaine?"

"Always, Liv." He kisses Katherine's forehead, then Kurt's cheek, handing off the baby. He takes her hand, both of them watching Kurt as he kneels, showing Everett and Noah the baby, helping Ev hold her, keeping her head supported. "So, it was worth it, right? Staying here for hours, keeping the boys entertained?"

She can barely pull her eyes away from the family, but she does, nodding at Blaine. "This was definitely worth it, baby."

**[+1]**

She's staring at her hands, tears trailing down her cheeks, falling unnoticed onto her white gown. Her hands are shaking, and she can't…they're shaking and she can't get them to stop. It…everything hurts, her body, her mind, her _soul_. Everything feels like it was ripped apart and it's never going to be okay again.

Her _child_, she lost her _child_, and nothing can ever make that ache better.

There's a knock on the door, but she doesn't look up as it opens and Blaine makes his way inside, the flowers and bear he'd bought in the gift shop hanging uselessly from his arms. He stops near the foot of her bed—she can see his pants from her downcast view—and she feels the flowers press onto the blanket about her feet. "The doctor…the umbilical cord got wrapped around his neck and they couldn't get it off—it was too short," she murmurs, a gasp cutting through her words, and suddenly the trickling tears are a rushing river and she can't help how her body is wracked with sobs. The bear drops to the ground as strong arms wrap around her, hands stroke through her hair. "They didn't know—everything looked good until the birth."

"Oh, Liv," Blaine breathes out, arms tightening. "I-there's nothing I can say to make this better, baby, and there's nothing Max can say or the doctor…I know that. But I'm here for you, and I always be here for you."

"We were going to name him Anderson." She's not sure if it hurts worse, to say that aloud, but she just couldn't let it linger between her and Max, the only tangible thing they'll have left of their baby, of baby Anderson. "I guess-oh, God, Blaine, my baby's _dead_."

And she's sobbing again, against his shoulder, as he rubs her back in soothing, small circles, humming some lullaby in her ear that their mother used to sing to them. It's the only thing she can hear through her sobs. "Max is…where is he?"

"He's talking to Jack and Matt and Nora," Blaine says, his voice calm and steady. "Kurt is with him. I called Dad, and he and Mom are going to fly out tonight. Burt and Carole are coming, too, and Max's parents. We're all going to be here for you guys. We'll get you through this. Kurt and I are going to take the kids home in an hour or so—back to ours'—so they can get some rest, and you guys can get some rest."

"I don't know what to do know, Blaine. I'm so used to being strong, and all I feel…I want to fall, I want to sink and I don't ever want to get back up. It's like this part of me has been ripped away—a part of my heart." She lets out another sob, clutching Blaine's forearm as tight as she can. "He didn't even breathe on his own—not once."

And it's all Blaine can do to hold her, humming louder, assuring her that he's there and somehow, she's going to make it through the next five minutes, the next hour, the next day, the next _year_, even if she isn't brave the whole time.

Because he's there to be brave for her when she can't be, because she always caught him when he fell, and he's more than glad to return the favor.

-/-/-

The tombstone is what they argued about most, if they wanted him to have one, if they wanted to even _bury_ him. But there it sits, **ANDERSON ELLIOT NOLAN, A Sweet Angel We Never Met**, beside the other tiny tombstones and the other tiny graves in this section of the cemetery, the section where parents must let go of their children too soon."This is never going to get easier," she says, glancing at her brother. "I don't—I can't do this with Max. It hurts too much now, and he hurts too much now, and I don't want to add to that pain."

"Whenever you need to come here, Liv, I'll come. I'll be here, and I'll wait for you."

"I thought the worse day of my life was the day Dad called me when you got beat up. I never thought I would know more pain than that, that anything could be worse, but this-"

"Talk to him, Liv. Talk until you get it all out, until there's nothing left to say, until the pain is less. I'll wait for you."

She nods, turning back to the cool stone, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Today is December 28th, Anderson, and it's been four weeks since you died…"


End file.
